


Running on Gasoline

by SempiternalDissonance



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AU, Andreil, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Timeline, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Team Feels, Trauma, actually lots of feels in general, all the feels, andreil is life, idk how to tag, lots of swearing, road to recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SempiternalDissonance/pseuds/SempiternalDissonance
Summary: At the fateful Thanksgiving dinner, Neil gets to Andrew sooner, but it doesn't turn out any better. Neil is still a martyr and Andrew isn't happy about it. The road to recovery isn't always easy, but if you have people to guide and support you, things will eventually be okay.





	1. Violence in the Pouring Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! This is my first posted fic, so I hope it's okay! This idea has been floating around in my head for awhile, and I finally decided to write it and post it. It's awful and it's going to be a tough one, but it'll get better. I have 0 confidence in this and in my writing capabilities, so I apologize in advance for garbage! Thank you for trying this out. Please let me know if you see any mistakes or confusion, and any comments are welcome! I'll post any trigger warning as the beginning of the chapters. Uh this chapter is kinda intense and sorta graphic, but it won't always be like this. Uh... okay cool. Happy reading! *awkward finger guns*
> 
> TW: Rape/Non-Con, violence, Drake is his own warning
> 
> Title came from Gasoline by Halsey

Something was wrong.

Years of being on the run and living with a father that would explode at the slightest of twitches had taught him how to read people and their body language. And right now, Neil could tell something wasn’t right.

For one thing, Maria had taken to tapping lightly on the handle of her knife when it was resting on the table. She was also downing more water than before Andrew had left the table. Luther kept glancing towards the top of the stairs and would frequently brush his hand against Maria’s, perhaps trying to calm her or himself. These two people were fidgeting more than they had before Andrew’s departure, and Luther’s return to the table.

Neil glanced around the table at Aaron, Kevin, and Nicky to see if they had picked up on any of this, but Nicky was still chattering on to his parents, and Kevin and Aaron were absorbed in their meal. Yet, Neil couldn’t shake this feeling that kept itching its way up his back that something was off. Finally, he’d had enough.

Dropping his napkin on the table, he pushed his chair back, making it screech in protest against the porch floors. Everyone looked up from their food and pleasant conversations.

“Bathroom,” Neil stated simply as an excuse, before making his way away from the table and towards the sliding glass door that lead to the kitchen. He didn’t wait for any response from the group before he entered the house and shut the door behind him.

There was a weird feel to the air that he did not like. The runner in him screamed to leave the house, but he steeled his courage by grabbing his racket leaning against the walls. Andrew was nowhere to be found. Something pulled him towards the stairs. Instinct, perhaps, or maybe it was Luther’s frequent glances towards the offending steps. Either way, he knew he had to check upstairs. Maybe Andrew was visiting Nicky’s old room for some peace and quiet. Lord knows Neil would love some of that right now.

Using soft footsteps on the balls of his feet, he crept swiftly and quietly up the stairs. Growing up, Neil had learned where to put pressure on stair steps to avoid alerting his father to his presence. Funny it came in handy in a random house during a “family” dinner.

There was only one room closed when Neil reached the hallway. A crash sounded behind the door, and Neil swept forwards, smashing the door open with his racket at the ready. A tall, muscular man loomed over Andrew who was collapsed on the floor, shards of glass littering his hair and a dark liquid spreading beneath him. Andrew wasn’t moving. The man looked up as Neil took precious seconds to take in the scene before he pulled his racket back to swing. What he didn’t expect, was the man to wrap his beefy fist around the racket and stop Neil’s momentum. A wicked grin split the man’s features in half, revealing glistening, bared teeth and eyes that flashed with malice.

“Oh?” Drawled the man, “Who’s this little AJ? Did you bring me a friend? A pretty little appetizer before we get to know each other again?”

The man yanked on the racket, sending Neil off his feet. Before Neil could get his feet under him and even consider a counter move, the man had wrapped his free hand around Neil’s neck and smashed him into the door, which effectively slammed it shut and sealed Neil’s fate. Neil struggled to breath as he tried to scrabble at the door behind him and at the large hand wrapped around his throat. The man leaned down into Neil’s face and, after dropping the racket, brought his hand up to stroke Neil’s cheek.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing? AJ never let me meet any of his friends,” the man leaned towards Neil’s neck and inhaled deeply, while tracing Neil’s snarled lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll get really acquainted real soon.”

Neil growled against the fingers at his lips and tried to kick at the man’s stomach. The man only laughed as he tightened his grip around Neil’s throat. He couldn’t breathe. Neil usually didn’t hate his smaller stature, but today it was becoming a real inconvenience. So, Neil bit long and hard into the man’s thumb that had been tracing his lower lip. In response, he was smashed harder against the door, and received a punch to the face.

“You little bitch!” the man growled then laughed. “At least you have some fight in you. This will be exciting. Well, little AJ’s friend. I’m Drake. Let’s have some fun.”

Drake…Drake. Why did that sound familiar? With lack of oxygen flow to his brain, Neil couldn’t make sense of the name at the moment. But he did notice, that the man-Drake-had accidentally let Neil slide to the floor. With his feet on the ground, he had more stability to deliver a firm, heavy stomp to Drake’s groin. But he missed, and only landed a blow to Drake’s thigh. Still, Drake groaned loudly and released Neil to hold his leg.

Neil gasped as a steady supply of oxygen reached his lungs and tried to orient and balance himself into a fighter’s position. He landed a punch to the man’s face, but it was lighter than he planned, since he was still off balance, and went to follow up with another. But this time the man was ready. Drake blocked the next shot and grabbed Neil’s arm. He twisted it cruelly, making Neil cry out. Drake smashed his fist into the side of Neil’s face, and threw him to the ground on top of the forgotten racket. He delivered a swift kick to Neil’s stomach and ribs before kneeling on top of him and punching him repeatedly. Pinning both of Neil’s arms above his head with one hand, and using the other hand to squeeze cruelly at his throat, Drake leaned down to growl in his face.

“You’re going to pay for that you fucker,” Drake snarled out before raising Neil’s head up and smashing it against the ground.

Neil saw stars. He was gasping for breath and his head ached horribly. He was pretty sure he was bleeding from his nose and a cut on his cheek he’d gotten from Drake’s ring. His back hurt horribly from lying on top of his racket, and his vision had fuzzy edges that he wasn’t sure if it was from being choked or from a potential concussion he was developing.

Neil wished he’d taken Matt up on those boxing lessons. Horribly, he almost wished he had a knife.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Andrew’s blonde hair, that he now realized wasn’t stained with blood, but rather some sort of liquor with a strong odor. At least Andrew was still breathing. Neil could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. At least he was breathing…

Drake threw one more punch at Neil’s head to get his attention.

“It’s time for some fun,” that same wicked grin was back in place.

Drake released Neil’s arm and neck, and Neil was so disoriented, he couldn’t move. Drake grabbed Neil around his waist and hoisted him into the air. Neil’s arms and legs were dangling like a doll’s from Drake’s grip, until he was unceremoniously dumped on the bed face down. He dragged his face across the soft sheets beneath him to turn and look at Andrew. He had to keep an eye on Andrew. He had to make sure Andrew was okay. He had to make sure Andrew was still breathing. Andrew…

Neil’s body was shifted to accommodate Drake’s added weight to the bed as he kneeled behind his prone form. Neil’s head was still swimming, and his vision wavered when Drake flipped his limp form over. He still couldn’t understand what was happening. It wasn’t until Drake started unfastening Neil’s belt and that awful zipper sound ripped through the air that Neil finally started to understand.

He wished he didn’t understand. He wished he had come up sooner when he’d first noticed something was wrong. He wished Andrew wasn’t here for this. He wished he could get his limbs and lungs to cooperate so he could fight back. He wished and he wished. But wishes are for happy children and shooting stars, not for broken, bleeding boys with an indisputable fate staring them in the face and a forever ticking clock ticking down to their final seconds. Wishes were not for Neil.

Neil’s face was pushed into the mattress again as he was flipped onto his stomach. Drake’s zipper was the final toll that sounded into the silent room. The next thing Neil registered was pain. A rending pain that felt as if he was being torn in half, ripped from one end to the other. Drake was not soft or gentle. Drake was rough and brutal with teeth that tore into his skin at the same time as the pulsing, throbbing, thrusting behind him. A hand was gripping his hair, continually pushing his face into the mattress. Grunts and groans and “You’re so tight” and “You’re such a pretty thing” resounded through the room, accompanying the sound of skin slapping skin.

Neil clenched his teeth and his hands spasmed into the silken sheets beneath him, as sharp contrast to the rough and violent action happening to him. But the whole time, Neil kept his eyes locked on Andrew’s form. Making sure Andrew was okay. Making sure Andrew was breathing.

Eventually, Neil stopped thinking. And tried, oh how he tried, to stop feeling. Seconds felt like hours, and minutes felt like years.

The next thing he heard was the sound of yelling. A guttural growl tore through the air and Drake was ripped off of Neil…out of Neil. The sudden movement caused a cry to tear from the back of Neil’s throat as his body slumped onto the bed.

The sounds of fighting filtered into Neil’s disoriented brain; of fists hitting skin and curses torn from snarling lips. And then it was silent.

A hand came into Neil’s view and he flinched back hard, making his sore, battered form protest violently and a groan to spill from his cracked mouth. Then warm brown filled his vision. Warm brown eyes. He knew those eyes. Those eyes were safe. That meant…

Neil looked towards where Andrew should be lying, but found nothing. Which meant Andrew was okay. Andrew was safe.

“And- Andrew…” Neil whispered.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.” Then Andrew’s brown eyes weren’t there anymore. The door was open and Andrew was yelling for…Aaron?

Neil must have dozed or gotten distracted because a second later the room was filled with people. Luther was standing in the doorway, in shock. Kevin’s retching sounds could be heard from the hallway. Aaron was on the phone talking swiftly and quietly in the corner, eyes darting between Neil and something on the floor. Nicky looked pained and had tears in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to dart towards Neil at any moment, but a rock-solid Andrew standing sentry besides Neil on the bed seemed to be holding him back with a murderous look.

“…look like a fucking misunderstanding now?!” Andrew’s voice was cold, murderous, and filled with barely contained restraint. “Or are you going to just call it ‘brotherly affection’ again? You let a mother fucking rapist into your fucking house and you’re about to wish you were dead.”

Neil attempted to push himself up, but the steadily building headache pounding beneath his skull and a sharp pain from…somewhere below…made him fall back to the bed with a pained groan. Someone must have covered him with a sheet at one point, because it shifted as he rolled to his side. Neil became painfully aware of an uncomfortable wetness between his thighs as his thighs slid together. But he tried not to think about it.

With Neil’s movements, all eyes snapped to him and the tension that had been held taught in the air seemed to snap. All of a sudden everyone was moving. Luther was slowly backing out. Aaron snapped his phone closed and came to Neil’s head trying to shine a flashlight into his eyes, checking his pupils. Nicky started sobbing and asking what he could do. But Neil only had eyes for Andrew. Andrew, at that point, seemed to snap and growled for everyone to ‘get the fuck back’ and looked like he was about to grab the back of Neil’s neck before he stopped himself.

“Dammit, Josten. Just stay the fuck still,” Andrew’s hand was still hovering over Neil, unsure for the first time.

Neil’s hand reached up to Andrew’s hesitance and gripped tightly at his wrist.

“I’m fine.”


	2. This is Not a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos for the first chapter! I definitely got the feels from all the love and encouragement I got! I almost cried and it was the worst and the best at the same time. 
> 
> Now... *dramatic music* ARE YOU READY??  
> But seriously... are you ready? This chapter was a bit of a doozy and it's like 80% violence. I love Neil like the precious scary cupcake he is, and I wanted some justice for the violence I did to him last chapter, so this may be mostly self indulgent. Also, I'm not 100% sure if I'm going to switch perspectives like this each chapter, or it may be at random... we'll see. I've got a vague plan for this fic in my head...
> 
> Can I just say that Nora Sakavic's characters are very complex and beautiful? Andrew's medicated personality is very hard to get a grasp on and his dialogue was NOT easy. In my defense, he does have a concussion and is dealing with his trauma face to face in this chapter, so he's flip flopping between manic and dead angry... I did my best, so I hope nothing was too out of character or anything. I'm also not sure what exy racquets are made of, so I just took what it said on the fan Wikia page...
> 
> Anyway! The comments definitely pushed me to write this faster! I love each and every comment I receive, so thank you thank you! Umm... good luck with this one! (I'm nervous about posting all over again.. weeee) Enjoy reading!

_Andrew_  
\----

His head was throbbing, sending a rhythmic pounding through his skull. It almost resembled… NO. He wouldn’t dwell on that. His mind was a cruel place to bring up those horrific memories when a clearly painful headache was making its way from the back of his head to his temple. 

Andrew stretched his fingers experimentally and dug into the rough carpet fibers beneath his palm, looking for something to ground himself with. Bee had walked him through grounding techniques repetitively when he’d first started his sessions with her, and now it was almost second nature that drove him to focus on the feeling of the now; the slide of each rough piece of cheap carpet strand through his fingers, damp with the strong stench of whiskey, and… Fucking shit what the absolute fuck was that pounding?

Snarling under his breath, Andrew propped himself up on his elbows, keeping his throbbing forehead on the ground. Breathing in deeply, he tried to piece together what had happened. He was at Luther’s house – the bastard – and he’d been hating his way through dinner, with Nicky’s endless chatter and Neil’s unraveling complexity to entertain him. 

He’d been called into the kitchen for… the promise of alcohol. That explained the whiskey stench.  
Pieces of images assaulted his brain. Stairs. An open door. A bottle of whiskey on the floor. The slam of a door. Hungry eyes. Drake….Drake?

**Drake**

Andrew snapped his head up, and with it the last piece of the puzzle slotted perfectly into place; Neil’s beautifully contorted face as he burst stupidly into the room.  
And now, Andrew was face to face with the horror that he had expected to be subjected to tonight. Instead of him on that bed slamming over and over into the wall, was his runner, his liar, his martyr, his protection. 

Andrew saw red. 

Before he was even fully on his feet, he vaulted towards Drake. One hand slipped into his armband and snapped his knife out. Andrew’s furious eyes flashed across the sharpened steel as he took the five steps needed to reach the bed. For now, he ignored the blood-stained sheets, and ignored the concerningly vacant expression on Neil’s face. For now, he only had eyes for Drake. And he wanted blood.

The carpet had softened Andrew’s footsteps and Drake was concentrating far too hard on the task before him to hear his approach. The only warning Drake had was a growl that tore itself from the back of Andrew’s throat before he plunged his knife into Drake’s side. Drake let out an entirely different gasp from the one’s he’d been making previously before Andrew twisted the blade deeper, harder, then ripped upwards in a fluid stroke. Andrew didn’t let Drake have even one more second to draw in a breath he didn’t even deserve before snatching onto his hair and wrenching him backwards off of Neil. He threw his garbage foster “brother” off the bed and onto the floor. Raising his right foot, he smashed it down into Drake’s solar plexus, taking pleasure in the wheeze that strained out of Drake’s mouth. He dropped onto his knee on top of Drake’s chest, his second knife already whipped out and ready to slip smoothly across Drake’s throat and bring the blood Andrew wanted to see so badly gurgle to the surface and drench the carpet beneath them. 

Arms shot up and hands clamped securely around Andrew’s forearms, restraining his advances towards vulnerable flesh. A shudder rolled through Andrew at the unwanted and sudden touch.

“AJ,” Drake wheezed. “How nice to see you up and moving around, my delicious little baby brother.” A malicious smile cracked across Drake’s face.  
Andrew struggled against Drake’s grip, baring his teeth, mixing with the ill-timed smile stretching itself maniacally across his face. “Fuck you, you piece of shit. Trash doesn’t get the right to call me its brother.”

“Didn’t you miss me? Cass said she doesn’t hear from you much anymore.” Andrew twitched at Cass’s name. Drake wrenched on Andrew’s arms, bringing him closer. “We used to have the best time together. Don’t you want it to be like the good old days? We could reminisce together. Or, even better, we could bring our old favorite fantasy to life and bring your pretty little twin up here.”

A laugh ripped itself from Andrew’s lips, twisted and deranged, before his teeth snapped together.

“You think I’ll let you anywhere near another person, let alone Aaron?” Another snicker rolled into the air. “I’m going to end you.”

“Someone feeling a little jealous? If you wanted me all to yourself, you should have told me so sooner. Because you’re all mine. Always has been, and always will be,” Drake’s grip on Andrew’s wrists tightened, grinding bones together. Andrew had no choice but to drop his knives. Drake glanced down and then back up at Andrew. “Your little friend was just a little snack. I’m ready to go again. Want to play, little AJ?”

Drake heaved himself up and toppled Andrew over, still keeping a firm grasp on Andrew’s wrists. Andrew wanted to scream and roar with anger and fear at being pinned under his worst nightmare again, but all he could manage was a sick laugh. Fuck his fucking medication.

Drake shoved a knee between Andrew’s legs and rolled his hips down. Fourteen-year-old Andrew hadn’t been strong enough to push Drake off of him. Fourteen-year-old Andrew hadn’t been able to stop Drake’s advances all those years. Fourteen-year-old Andrew hadn’t known how to fight back. But Andrew wasn’t fourteen years old anymore. 

Hooking his feet around Drake’s legs, he jerked his legs out causing Drake to fall on top of Andrew. Repressing a shudder, he quickly twisted his hips and Drake fell onto his injured side. Gasping in pain, Drake lost his grip on Andrew’s arms and instinctively clamped one hand around his still bleeding side. 

Half of Andrew’s body was still trapped under Drake’s repulsive weight, and his knives were too far out of reach. Andrew braced his arms against the ground and bucked his hips up, getting enough room to pull his legs out and swiftly maneuver himself so he was out from under Drake. He pushed himself away and made a grab for his knives. His fingers were mere inches from the blades before a hand wrapped itself around his leg and pulled harshly. Andrew’s shirt rode up and burned against the carpet as he slid across. 

Rolling over, Andrew cocked his arm back and punched Drake above his left eye. Drake’s head snapped to the right. When he turned back, his expression was full of dark fury, devoid of any humor he’d held previously. He snatched onto Andrew’s wrist with one hand and gripped tightly onto Andrew’s neck with the other, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“AJ,” Drake hissed. “You know this isn’t how you’re supposed to behave. Now be a good boy and roll over.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew spat, clawing at Drake’s hand that constricted his precious airway. Drake only squeezed tighter. Black spots were appearing in his vision.

Desperate, Andrew threw his eyes around the room, looking for something, anything. His vision landed on Neil’s forgotten exy racquet, lying within arm’s reach. Andrew wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t even draw in a breath. Everything always came back to exy.

Andrew whipped his arm out, snatching onto the racquet’s smooth shaft. Hefting it up, he brought it down heavily onto Drake’s head. Drake immediately released all of Andrew and slumped down. Andrew shoved him off, heaving in breaths of air. He rolled onto his knees and swung the racquet up with both hands. Drake looked up from where he was lying on the ground; a dazed expression on his face. Andrew swung. 

Bone cracked against aluminum.

Andrew stood up, chest heaving. He glanced down at Drake, taking in the racquet sized dent in his forehead and the blood seeping from his side. Drake didn’t move again. His breath slowed, then sputtered out. Andrew dropped the racquet. He stood there for a minute, panting and practically vibrating as shudders ran through him. 

Neil.

Andrew swiftly made his way to the bed. He took in the gruesome scene before him. Neil was on his stomach and he didn’t look like he’d moved at all. He was staring straight forward, blinking slowly. Shallow breaths made little rises and falls in his chest, but otherwise there was no movement. Andrew methodically look in the blood and other fluids seeping from Neil and the bruises slowly starting to blossom all over his battered body. Neil didn’t swing…

Andrew pushed his hand in front of Neil’s eyes, intending to wave back and forth and try and get some sort of a response. Neil flinched hard and fast from Andrew’s hand, groaning at the movement. Andrew took his hand back and dropped to a crouch so he could meet Neil’s eyes. He watched Neil slowly connect the dots before having to listen to Neil’s raspy, “And- Andrew…” 

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.” He didn’t want to listen to anymore torn words coming from a throat that had been holding back screams. A thousand images flashed through his mind; a thousand memories. Andrew clenched his hands together in a fist, nails biting into his palms trying to stay in the present. Neil needed him. He needed to take care of Neil. Neil needed what Andrew had never gotten; help. He looked down at his hands and realized how badly they were shaking. He couldn’t do this. Andrew was too close to this and flashbacks threatened to take over. Aaron. He needed Aaron. He was studying medicine, right?

Andrew pushed to his feet and did one more cursory glance over Neil. He carefully slid a sheet over Neil, careful not to touch him. He turned on his heel and made his way towards the landing and called loudly for Aaron. There was no way he was going to be more than ten feet from leaving Neil in the same room as Drake again, dead or alive. 

“What the fuck, Andrew?” Aaron demanded as he came into view at the bottom of the stairs. 

“It’s Neil,” Andrew replied, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“And what the fuck about him? We’re trying to have dinner. Or don’t you remember because you’ve been off playing with Neil for the last thirty minutes.”

“Aaron.”

“Andrew, I fucking swear…” Aaron trailed off as he squinted harder at Andrew. “Have you…did you and Neil get in a fist fight? What the fuck, Andrew?” Aaron started trailing up the stairs looking curious and slightly appalled as he took in Andrew’s battered face and still wet hair.

In response, Andrew turned and led the way into the room.

Aaron stopped in the doorway and took in the blood-soaked sheets covering the lower half of Neil, who had returned to a vacant, empty expression, and the unmoving body of Drake sprawled on the floor.

“What the… Shit, Andrew is that guy dead?” 

Andrew’s eyes darkened and ground his teeth together, as a grin split across his face. “Could be. Could not be. Are you more concerned about a rotting pile of trash or our precious little baby freshman who just got raped?”

“Ra- Holy shit, Andrew.” Aaron started backing towards the door. “Do not move. I’m getting Nicky.”

“Oh don’t forget the instigator! Bring old good Daddy Luther up here. I need to have a few words with him.” 

Aaron left, bounding down the stairs. He was back in a matter of minutes, trailing the whole brigade. The minute Kevin walked into the room demanding what was going on, and he took in the scene before him, he instantly turned and ran to the bathroom where he could retch his little heart out. 

“What happened? Oh my God, Neil!” Nicky shrieked. “We need… oh, God. Andrew. Andrew, we need to call the police. NO. No, first, oh, God… first we need an ambulance.”

Aaron was already dialing and speaking quickly and quietly on the phone with a 911 operator. 

But Andrew didn’t care about that. No, his eyes locked onto Luther the second he was in the door looking pale and oh so fucking surprised. Andrew chuckled darkly before sweeping forwards and slamming Luther into the wall by the door. He went to slip a knife out of his armbands, but remembered that he’d left them on the floor from the fight after finding nothing in the dark cloth.

“You. You did this.” Andrew snarled and laughed, an odd combination that sounded like insanity. “Is this what you wanted, Luther? Is this why you brought this piece of shit into your house? Except, he got to Neil, not me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Andrew. How could I have planned this, let alone foreseen something like this happening?” Luther stammered out, trying to look innocent and naïve. “I just wanted you to come to an understanding with Drake. For all these years, you’ve had such a big misu-“

Andrew shoved away from Luther in disgust. He took up sentry by Neil instead, taking an odd sense of calm by being closer to the broken boy on the bed. He felt he could protect him from such poisonous words. Or maybe he was just protecting himself.

“Don’t you **fucking dare** call this a misunderstanding. Does this look like a fucking misunderstanding now?! Or are you going to just call it ‘brotherly affection’ again? You let a mother fucking rapist into your fucking house and you’re about to wish you were dead.” Andrew seethed out, itching for his blades. He would have dived towards them on the floor and buried them in Luther, if not for Neil’s sudden groan behind him.

Andrew whipped around and tunnel visioned onto Neil, who’d rolled onto his side and had a rather pained and uncomfortable expression on his face. He vaguely heard Nicky’s soft crying and pleading for how he could help and saw Aaron trying to check Neil’s pupils probably for the concussion he most likely had.

“Everyone get the fuck back.” Andrew snapped. There was so much going on around him, but he needed to focus on Neil. He instinctively reached out towards Neil’s neck, his go-to way for reassurance or comfort or solace or whatever the fuck it was you could call it. It always seemed to calm the skittish runner when he was feeling particularly flighty or panicky, and Andrew so wanted to ground Neil, and in some way, himself too. 

But he knew. He knew how he hated to be touched especially after being violated or when he remembered it in any aspect. So, he was wary of how Neil would be now. Neil already didn’t like having his space invaded and Andrew didn’t want to push any boundaries or touch Neil at all if he only needed space. Andrew wouldn’t become like those who had hurt him. Who had taken his boundaries for granted or disrespected them in any way. He wouldn’t let himself become like them. So, he hovered.

“Dammit, Josten. Just stay the fuck still,” Andrew bit out. His hand still wavered in the air, so it took him completely by surprise when Neil reached up and gripped firmly onto Andrew’s wrist.

“I’m fine.”

Oh. Oh, how Andrew hated those words. Especially now. He wrenched Neil’s hand off his wrist and pressed forwards, gripping firmly onto the back of Neil’s neck. He grit his teeth, grinding them together instead of pressing too hard into Neil’s neck and inventively giving him more unnecessary bruises. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare. Now, lie still like a good little freshman until the ambulance gets here. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt or anything,” Andrew bit out. 

“Ambulance? I don’t need an ambulance. I said I’m fi-“ Neil tried to say in that horrible rasping voice, but Andrew squeezed tighter onto his neck. 

“Shh,” Andrew shushed Neil, glaring daggers. If he had his knives on him, he probably would have pulled them out by now. “I said ‘shut the fuck up’ or do I need to ask the nice paramedics to check your hearing, too? Or maybe ask for a double CT scan of your minuscule brain because you obviously can’t listen to simple instructions.”

Neil wisely clamped his lips shut, but he stared defiantly up at Andrew. That willful defiance did something to Andrew that he quickly clamped down on, shoved into a box, and locked away before kicking it into the darkness. He disgusted himself. Now was not the time. 

They would have kept glaring at each other if Aaron hadn’t folded his arms and frowned saying, “Can I please make sure he doesn’t have any real brain damage aside from just stupidity?”

Andrew moved over half a step, but kept eyes locked on Neil. Aaron only sighed and rolled his eyes before resuming checking Neil’s pupils. When he was satisfied they were of equal size, he nodded satisfied and stepped away.

“Neil…?” Nicky timidly spoke up from behind Andrew. “What can I do? I’m so sorry this happened to you, oh my god.” 

“Nicky,” Andrew commanded. “Get the door for when the ambulance gets here.”

By the time Nicky had opened the door, the ambulance was just rolling up along side the house, sirens blaring along with multiple squad cars. The house was soon filled with people and Nicky helped direct the paramedics to the bedroom. The police found Luther and Maria and started the questioning.  
Andrew hadn’t moved an inch by the time the paramedics arrived to the room. When a paramedic went to check Drake’s body, Andrew almost snapped his head off, but Aaron restrained him as best he could. Andrew returned to Neil’s side and watched as they carefully maneuvered Neil’s body onto a stretcher, despite his protests that he could walk. Andrew was going to kill him one day. 

As Andrew went to follow Neil’s stretcher out the door, four words stopped him in his tracks.

“Holy shit. He’s alive!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaas! Drake got his ass kicked! But I'm sorry he's alive... I promise it's for the plot! I have plans. I think... And IDK why I like to end my chapters on such dramatic one liners. It won't always be like that. I'm just in a dramatic mood. Anyway, thank you thank you for reading! Comments are welcome and appreciated! <3


	3. White Lies Are Still Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! I was really busy during the holiday season, and when I finally got around to writing it, I hated it, so I re-wrote about 2/3 of the chapter. When I went to finally post it, my wifi up and died. I was waiting for it to get fixed, but I finally decided to run over to my sister's house, where I'm finally posting this from. Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> This chapter is a bit of of a chunker, so I hope that makes up for the late posting. I realized in a lot of the rape recovery fics, that people don't always talk about the medical or the 'right after' so I kind of wanted to bring that into this... I focused a lot on how Neil was feeling, so I hope it's not too slow or boring. I also want to say that everyone deals with sexual assault differently. I drew from my own experiences, and then tried to mix it with how I thought Neil would react, and went from there. I tried to get everyone in character...
> 
> Also, I'm sorry in advance...I am garbage.
> 
> Any feedback is welcome! Thank you for sticking with me and for reading! Your comments made my week. Enjoy!!
> 
> TW: Rape/non-con reference, past abuse, panic attacks, violence

Neil kept his eyes locked firmly on the sky that burned orange and blood red and shook with every step of the paramedics. Each shake rattled his battered body. He had to clench his fists to control the pained noises that so desperately wanted to leak out of his tightly locked lips. The paramedics kept asking him questions as they made their way towards the ambulance, but he didn’t have the energy or the patience to answer back. They’d figure out the answers eventually anyway.

He hated this. He hated that he was going to the hospital. When he’d been on the run, he hadn’t been allowed to step foot in a hospital. Not even when he’d been shot, or had half the skin on his chest torn off from jumping from a moving vehicle. Not even when he’d gotten a fever of 104 degrees and his whole body felt like it would fall apart from shaking so hard. Hospitals required identification and had traceable records. Hospitals meant too many questions about ancient and current wounds. 

But most of all he hated that he’d been ra- 

Neil was fine. 

If only the paramedics would quit touching him. Each press of fingertips into his skin as they checked his vitals made his skin crawl and itch. He couldn’t stand so many hands on him at one time. It reminded him of his father and Lola when they would hold him down to teach him a lesson, which usually was a precursor before a knife would replace that touch and pain would burn across his body. 

So instead of focusing on the heavy hands, he focused on the sky. How the bright orange reminded him of the Foxes and the one place he’d felt safe for the first time in…maybe for the first time. How the puffy white clouds drifting lazily into the sunset reminded him of cotton pillows and…cotton balls soaked in alcohol in an attempt to clean a wound cruelly torn open with a knife. Deep blues that reminded him of the ocean where he’d burned and buried his mother. Bloody reds that reminded him of the sheets-

Neil was fine.

Deciding the sky was no longer a good distraction, Neil turned to those around him. They’d reached the ambulance and he was slid inside. He took in all the equipment and flashing lights and the faces that he wouldn’t remember later. He didn’t realize he’d been looking for a specific set of brown eyes and blonde hair until something unfamiliar started a slow burn across his chest.

Someone shut the first door and Neil snapped his attention to the last open door. His heart rate skyrocketed and he let out a small gust of air. Just as he was about to push himself up on his elbows and consider making a run for it, Nicky popped up into the ambulance and made his way inside to sit by Neil’s right side. The last door slammed shut and the ambulance started up.

Neil gave Nicky a confused glance with a single burning question in his eyes. Nicky offered a small smile and reached down to hold onto his hand with both of his. 

“Andrew had to answer some questions from the police. And I think he was going to call Bee after, too. But I think he might meet us at the hospital. Sorry,” Nicky laughed tiredly. 

“Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Neil’s face twitched in an attempt to smile back. Instead, he squeezed Nicky’s hand back before turning his head to look up at the ceiling of the ambulance and let his eyes drift closed. 

\-----

Neil officially hated hospitals. When the ambulance finally rolled up to the hospital, it was instantly a flurry of activity. Even though he wasn’t an emergent case, he was swiftly pushed down the hallways. The hospital was a roiling cesspool of tension, sickness, and people demanding information. How was he feeling, how old was he, did they want them to call anyone for him, and on and on. People shouted for doctors and nurses. Patients yelled in pain, while some simply festered quietly in their diseases. People visiting always needed something. The smell of antiseptic and unnatural cleanliness hung heavily in the air, an unforgiving reminder of the death that seemed to cling from the ceiling like unwanted cobwebs. Everything seemed to put Neil on edge. It didn’t help he had no control of the situation. 

When he finally was dropped off at a private examination area, he realized he had lost Nicky along the way. No matter, he was grateful for a more secluded area. 

Maneuvering onto the exam table proved to be an inconvenience. Neil, stubbornly, refused to be manhandled onto the stiff bed with a sheet of parchment paper stretched from top to bottom that crinkled at the slightest touch. Instead, he refused all help and pulled himself into a sitting position. The burn in his hip and lower back areas became regretfully apparent. But Neil was no stranger to pain, and instead set his shoulders and jumped down from the bed. 

The minute his feet landed on the floor, a ripple of aches and pains ricocheted up his spine. The strangeness of the pain almost brought him to his knees. He leaned heavily on the gurney he’d been rolled in on and attempted to catch his breath. 

“Sir, do you want some help?” Some medical assistant tried as they eased closer. Neil shot his hand out and held his index finger up, indicating he’d like a minute. 

Eventually, Neil was able to maneuver himself onto the bed, and shifted his body so he was leaning on his side, which took some of the pressure off. The gurney was wheeled out, along with the people and a departing, “The doctor will be in soon.” Neil was alone. 

Neil’s head ached. He rubbed at his temples like he could rub off the memories of what had happened. He swore he could still feel a heavy body pressed against him and the smell of the larger man… Neil didn’t know what sex smelled like, but he assumed it must be like this, except hopefully not mixed with the metallic tang of blood and pain. It was repulsive. He wanted a shower. Anything to scrub the thoughts and feelings and smell away. Anything to get away. He threaded his fingers into his hair and gripped tightly, tugging at the strands. He wanted to run. 

Waves of emotions rolled over him, pushing and pulling at his mind. Anger, guilt, frustration, embarrassment, and pain were a poison pulsing through his veins threatening to rip him apart from the inside out, clawing and tearing endlessly at the memories inside his head. Memories of the events of the evening, memories of past pains, memories of his mother’s fingernails scratching into his scalp and threatening to rip his hair from his head just for a simple kiss, and then fear. Fear of how she would have reacted if she was still alive. Calling him a nuisance and a distraction with a face that not only was a disgusting reminder of his father, but one that pulled people’s unwanted attention to them. Calling him pathetic for not being able to walk this off. He could almost hear her scathing words as she ranted about how he was in a hospital and how this was his fault and why can’t he just get the fuck up because they need to run.

He supposed he should be feeling some sort of loss right now. But should he even be feeling sorrow and loss for something that he hadn’t even cared about before? He always said he didn’t swing, and that was true, so what was this feeling that was slowly twining itself up through his throat like a vine strong enough to pull apart thick, stone walls?

Everything was so twisted and convoluted that he couldn’t seem to compartmentalize or separate anything in his head. Pain mixed with pain and old scars twinged with something that made him bring his hand down to his clothed chest and run his hand over the familiar bumps and valleys of a past and a future that promised to leave him six feet under in a few short months. He didn’t have time for this. There was no point in trying to untangle all that he was feeling right now. So, he took a few deep breaths and looked up to the glaring florescent lights of the hospital and shoved everything back down his throat and stomped it into submission.

Neil was fine. 

A soft knock echoed from the door before it swung open and a sheepish Nicky entered. 

“Hey, Neil. How you holding up?”

Neil opened his mouth to proclaim that the situation was fine, and he was fine, but nothing came out. He must be more tired than he thought. So, he closed his mouth, and raised a shoulder instead in some gesture that would hopefully say the same thing. 

Concern instantly found its place on Nicky’s face and Neil regretted his choice of silence. “God, that was a dumb question. I’m so sorry,” Nicky pushed forwards closer and grabbed onto Neil’s hands. “I’m so sorry, Neil. I shouldn’t have pushed for the dinner. If I’d known…” But there was no way for Nicky to have known this would happen. He’d only wanted a dinner with his family. So, Neil didn’t blame him.

“Nicky,” Neil rasped out. “Stop. It’s not your fault.”

“But I was the one to push for- “

“Nicky,” Neil pushed his voice harder, trying to be louder. “I said stop.”

Nicky’s shoulders slumped and he released a gust of air. Then, he shook himself a little bit and plastered a smile that still had hints of sadness laced through on his face.

“Anyway, Andrew texted and said he was on his way. I guess the police let him go because it was self-defense.”

Neil nodded and when Nicky kept chattering on, he turned to stare at the ceiling. He appreciated Nicky’s attempts at distraction, but he just wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Instead, he settled for trying to keep his mind blank and from taking him to darker places.

Minutes stretched on until there was another knock on the door and a red-headed doctor pushed her way in.

“Hello! I’m Dr. Ashford and I’m going to be your doctor today,” she locked eyes with Neil and smiled softly. “You must be Neil. And this must be your friend.”

“Ah, yeah, I’m Nicky,” he stood and shook hands with the doctor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nicky, Neil. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Neil couldn’t decide if he appreciated her attempt at a joke or not. Either way, he didn’t laugh.

“Anyway,” the doctor turned to Neil who was instantly locked under the intensity of her stare. Her eyes whispered of a sadness that had taken up a permanent residence with the stories from her time as a doctor and at the present situation; however, there was a fierceness that held her firm and steady, something Neil almost envied. “Neil. I’m sorry for what you went through earlier this evening, and I assure you, I will do my best to make sure you are comfortable and receive the best treatment that we have.”

Neil looked away, but nodded all the same. Dr. Ashford put her clipboard down and turned to rifle through the cupboards that lined the walls. She pulled out a hospital gown and turned back to the two boys.

“I’m going to have you change into this. We need to do a full exam which will include a physical examination of your body to assess what treatments and any further tests that might be needed, a rape kit, and some blood samples. Nicky, you are welcome to stay for this, or you can go. It’s all up to Neil. I’m going to pop out for a bit, and I’ll be back in a second. During that time, you can change, Neil. I’ll knock before I enter.”

Dr. Ashford left, and Nicky turned to look at Neil. 

“Um, do you want me to stay? I can go if that would make you feel more comfortable, too?” Nicky ended his sentences like questions and he seemed largely uncertain of how to proceed with the situation. Neil guessed he’d never been in this type before. Guess Nicky got the short straw on this one.

“You can go. I’m sure you want to check in on Andrew and the others. I’m fine,” Neil’s throat still hurt and sounded a little raspy on the way out. Nicky just nodded and looked torn for a second. But then he just smiled and reached out to grip Neil’s hands firmly.

“Okay. I’m here for you, okay? I’ll just be out in the waiting room. If you need me just holler,” Nicky squeezed Neil’s hands harder as hesitation flashed quickly across his features. Then, he let go of Neil’s hands and walked out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him. A myriad of emotions flickered through Neil at the sight of Nicky walking away, before he settled on one that was starting to become somewhat of a default: empty. 

Neil turned and grabbed the hospital gown. The rough material was covered in tiny little ducks and for a minute, he remembered a memory from a younger time. He’d been taking a bath and was playing with a rubber duck his mother had gotten him the day before after he’d begged and begged at the store. He loved the soft squeak it made as he squished it flat, and how if he filled it with water, it would shoot a small stream out its beak. He was laughing loudly at the squeaking that ricocheted off the bathroom walls, when the door had been torn open to reveal his father with a mask of fury etched into his face. He’d torn the duck from Neil’s small hands, and shoved and held his head roughly under the water. Apparently, it’s hard to torture someone when a small child squeaking a duck could be heard through the walls. Neil didn’t take baths after that. 

Neil shook himself angrily. Why, of all times, did that particular memory have to pop up? His hands were starting to cramp with how tightly he’d been gripping the stupid hospital gown. He wanted to leave. He hated being here. But he didn’t seem to have a choice, and running wasn’t exactly an option right now, seeing as how he couldn’t walk. 

So, instead, he lay on his back and shimmied out of his pants, which were stained with so much blood, they looked like they were rust colored with patches of blue. He wasn’t sure if it was all his, or a mixture of his and Drake’s. He dropped those on the floor with a muffled thump. He was left in his shirt, and his underwear. He froze. He didn’t want to take off his shirt because he didn’t want questions about his scars, and for some reason, he couldn’t fathom taking his underwear off either. His hands were shaking as he decided it would be for the best to at least take off his shirt. He knew there were…marks from Drake and he had to do this. Trying to conceal the scars might raise more questions than he wanted.

As soon as his shirt was off, he tugged the duck covered gown on. The shaking had moved from his hands to full body shakes. He didn’t understand. It wasn’t cold in here. But he couldn’t stop shaking. Pathetic.

A soft knock announced Dr. Ashford’s arrival. 

“Hey, Neil. I see you dressed down okay. Are you ready to get started?”

Neil looked away, but nodded. Dr. Ashford gave a reassuring smile as she rolled a stool over to sit in front of him.

“Okay. The first thing is probably going to be the most difficult. I need you to tell me what happened so I can know what to be on the lookout for. You can stop as many times as you want, but I need to know if, for example, I need to be on the lookout for internal bleeding, or head injuries, or things like that,” she waited for Neil to nod before continuing. 

“Let’s get started, okay? Just start from the beginning.”

Neil hated this. He’d never talked about violent incidents in the past, so he was uncomfortable and said what he could in halting words. He didn’t meet the doctor’s eyes. He didn’t remember everything, but he said what he thought would be important for injury sake. He hated every minute. When he got to the part when he was pushed down on the bed, he paused and he looked a little dazed and confused. He didn’t know how to describe what happened. The memories were fuzzy.

“I…I don’t know what happened next,” Neil finally glanced up at the doctor. 

“It’s okay. Were you penetrated?” 

“I…yes…” He wanted to throw up.

“Do you remember any other injuries you might have incurred?” Dr. Ashford pressed firmly, but with a soft tone.

“No… I can’t remember…” He was so confused. He just wanted to be back in the Tower, on the roof. He wanted to be alone with only the whistling wind and the inhale of Andrew’s cigarettes to keep him company. 

The doctor had a kind look on her face, but she wasn’t smiling. When she caught Neil’s eyes, she held them firmly. “Neil. What you went through was not okay. I am sorry, for what little that might count. Know that what happened was not your fault. I’m going to do what I can to treat you and help get you started again.”

Something churned in his stomach, and he clenched his fists in the retched duck gown. He forced himself to relax his hands, then clenched them again, and again. Words seemed to be caught in his mouth and all he could do was nod. What was wrong with him?

Dr. Ashford proceeded by having him take off the hospital gown so she could examine the bruises, cuts, and bites. Despite Neil’s nervousness about showing his scars, she didn’t say anything about them. 

Neil’s skin was a canvas of bruises like brush strokes of dead flowers. They blossomed dark blue and purple, while some still had tinges of red. His hips, legs, wrists, and neck had distinct finger shaped marks that stood out sharply against his sun-kissed skin. A bruise graced the side of his face where Drake had punched it repeatedly. His ribs were, thankfully, only bruised with a dark shadow that covered his left side, and not broken. He had a particularly painful bite wound in the crevice between his shoulder and neck and a few on his sides. The one on his neck looked like a bloody hickey; Drake had bitten fairly hard on that one. The cut on his cheek stung when the doctor cleaned and bandaged it.

His head was scanned to see how extensive his concussion was, and after looking for any bruising there, he was cleared for a mild concussion. His ass stung and hurt badly when the doctor had to take a swab and then examine it further to see how extensive the damage was. Neil had some significant tearing and was banned from any athletic activity for at least two weeks, much to Neil’s chagrin. He felt the only way he could feel normal after this was to be back in the court, racquet in hand and feet pounding rhythmically against the floors. 

After drawing some blood, and promising he’d have his STD results within the week, he was finished.

“We generally recommend a therapist for survivors, Neil. It helps to talk and we have one in the hospital if you would like me to set up weekly sessions,” Dr. Ashford offered as she ripped her gloves off and threw them away. 

“No. It’s okay. My team has its own therapist.” Not that he’d ever willingly visit Bee, but the doctor didn’t need to know that. 

“Alright. Well, you’re free to go. I’ll let them know you’re going to be discharged, and you can get dressed in the meantime.” And she was gone.

Neil frowned down at the blood and terror filled clothes on the floor. He was not looking forward to changing back into them, but he had no other clothes and he didn’t want to stay in the hospital gown any longer than he had too. 

A loud knock on the door signaled another visitor, and it was pushed in before Neil could even react. A gruff, unhappy Wymack stood in the doorway. 

“Hey, kid. I brought you some clean clothes,” Wymack said as he handed Neil a plastic bag. “Heard you were being discharged.”

“I… Coach. What are you doing here?” Neil was confused, but right now, he’d never been happier to see the older man, and clean clothes.

“Kevin called. Said you’d been injured by… if that asshole wasn’t already in the hospital, I’d have put him there myself,” a dark look shrouded Wymack’s features and for a second, fear spiked in Neil’s heart. Sometimes Wymack still reminded him of his father, even though he knew Wymack would never hurt him. Instead he turned his attention to the bag in his lap, opening it to find a pair of sweatpants, and an obnoxiously orange t-shirt.

“Thanks, Coach,” a look of wonder and awe had taken residence on Neil’s features as he looked from the bag of clothes back up to Wymack.

“God, don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I just saved your puppy. It’s just clean clothes.”

“No, I just…” Neil hesitated. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

“Shut it. Just get dressed so we can get the fuck out of here. I hate hospitals,” Wymack muttered as he turned around to give Neil privacy.

Neil dressed as quickly as he could without accidentally hurting his battered body. When he was done, Wymack turned around and tugged a wheelchair with him. Neil looked at it confused until Wymack snapped his fingers and pointed at the seat.

Oh, fuck no.

Neil glared. “I’m fine, Coach. I can walk.”

“Congratulations. Now get your ass in the chair, Josten. Let’s go,” Wymack glared back equally strong.

Grumbling, Neil slowly slid off the bed, crinkling the paper on the bed as he went and feeling every tug and lances of pain that shot up his spine. He had to jump the last foot or so, and when his feet connected with the floor, the rest of him followed. 

He’d misjudged how much it would hurt to stand, and his legs were already so tired. He felt pieces of his internal walls crumble with his body as it hit the floor. Pain stabbed his ass and hips when he collapsed, and he couldn’t help a small cry from slipping through his lips. 

Neil breathed heavily through his mouth and had closed his eyes when he’d dropped. He blinked his eyes open painfully and the first thing he saw was a large man’s hands reaching quickly closer and closer to him. Panic rippled through him and he stopped breathing. He rasped out, “No!” just before the hands closed over the tops of his arms, and he squeezed his eyes shut, once more. Futilely attempting to squeeze out the world with it. 

“Josten. Josten. Hey. Kid, open your eyes,” a snapping sound reached through the ringing sound in Neil’s ears. When he opened his eyes, he saw Wymack crouched in front of him, snapping next to his ear.

Anger shot through Neil. Anger at how pathetic he had become. Anger at his embarrassment, and anger at being embarrassed. Anger at his legs for not working. Anger at the pain and how miserable he felt. Anger for how he couldn’t be alone. Neil was angry.

“I’m fine,” Neil whipped out. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”

Wymack lowered his hand and rested his arms on the tops of his legs. “Don’t fucking start that, kid. You’re ass flat on the ground and you look like shit. You are not fine.”

Neil grit his teeth. “I said. I. Am. Fine.”

“That’s bullshit, Josten, and you know it.”

“No one asked you,” Neil shot back. He knew he was being childish, but he was so tired. He just wanted a shower and some sleep. 

Wymack sighed tiredly. Neil almost felt bad for putting him in this situation. “Look. I don’t care if you’re fine on the floor. Let me help you up, okay? You can be fine at home. But being in the hospital any longer won’t do anyone any good, so let’s get the fuck out of here, alright?”

Neil stared hard at the floor, wishing he could sink through it. Maybe then he could get some quiet rest. He ran a hand chilled from the floor down his face. All of a sudden, he deflated and he felt so done. His shoulders sagged and he breathed heavily out his nose. He was so tired and stressed. He just wanted to get out of here. 

Neil looked up, and saw Wymack standing there patiently, with a hand outstretched. Tears prickled at his eyes as a laugh threatened to bubble up and explode into hysterics. What the fuck was happening? Neil stared at the outstretched hand for a minute before he reached out and gripped it tight like it would either destroy him or lift him from the brink of ruin – he wasn’t sure which. But when Wymack heaved him to his feet, and even though he swayed unsteadily, Neil hadn’t felt more solid. 

Wymack helped Neil limp over to the wheelchair, where he lowered himself slowly into the black atrocity. He groaned a little when he settled on his ass, and tightened his grip on the chair’s armrests. It took him a minute before the pain settled into the constant throbbing, and he opened his eyes. He was met with the stormy face of his coach who looked like he wanted to say something. Instead Wymack turned away and started pushing Neil out the door, and on his way to freedom. 

\------

Apparently, freedom is hard won, because Neil seemed to be in the very heart of a twisting maze of doors and hallways that stretched on forever. They had to make a stop at the pharmacy in the hospital to pick up a small bottle of pain killers, which increased the time it took before Neil could be free of the heavy hospital atmosphere that threatened to crush him and hold him captive. 

When Wymack finally started pushing Neil down the hallways again towards the waiting room where they could meet up with the others, Neil started to feel a little lighter. He could put everything behind him and have no more reminders of the trauma he’d gone through. He would push everything into a box in his head and lock it away forever, just like everything else. He didn’t want to waste what little time he had left mourning the loss of something he hadn’t cared for before. 

The two had one more door, and one more hallway before they were clear of the twisting maze. A loud commotion sounded up ahead. A man was yelling loudly and the sounds of crashing metal and things being thrown echoed through the hallway. Something rattled ominously, sounding like the chains of death. Nurses were running towards the disturbance, and the sounds of metal hitting skin reached Neil’s sensitive ears. A foreboding feeling settled itself into Neil’s stomach. He’d had enough excitement for the day, but the other entrance towards the waiting room, and ultimately the exit, was back through the hallways and on the opposite side of the hospital. Wymack must have thought the same thing, because he slowed down for a minute before he picked up the pace again. They had no choice if they wanted to get out of here as quick as possible. 

They should have gone the other way. 

When Neil and Wymack rounded the corner, the scene came into sharp focus. There, in the middle of a bunch of nurses, some on the floor and some trying to tackle and hold him down, was Drake. He stood in the hallway like some sort of monster, with eyes wide and flashing wildly, and lips snarled up, baring his gnashing teeth. Dressed in a hospital gown, he must have been handcuffed to a hospital bed at one point, but now the railing of the bed was broken off and gripped in his fist like some kind of club, which he was using to keep the nurses back. A wicked bruise was stretched across his forehead from the exy racquet, and blood was oozing from his ears. He looked like he was right out of a nightmare. 

“What the fuck?” came Wymack’s surprised exclamation. 

Drake whipped around, and his wild eyes landed on Neil. He grinned.

Neil froze instantly. He couldn’t breathe. 

Drake lashed out with his bed rail weapon, catching a nurse upside the head, and clearing a path right to Neil. A wicked smile scratched itself up Drake’s face and drool slid down his chin as he started running right towards his pretty little prey. 

Wymack tried to maneuver Neil out of the way, but Drake was too fast. Instead, Wymack launched himself in front of Neil at the last moment and tackled Drake to the ground. Wymack drew back his arm and punched Drake, catching him on his left cheek. Drake’s head snapped to the right, smacking against the tiled floors. Wymack drew back again and threw another punch, this time hitting Drake’s eye. Drake struggled and tried to use the rail as a levering bar to push Wymack off. But Wymack refused to be pushed around and reached down to grab onto Drake’s arms, trying to hold him down. It worked, for a minute. Then, Drake snagged Wymack’s legs in his and rolled the two of them. 

Drake roared and brought the bed rail down onto Wymack’s ribs. Wymack gasped and released Drake, instead clutching his ribs and trying to catch a breath. Drake rolled and landed on his stomach facing Neil. Drake looked up and laughed, snapping his teeth together.

Neil had been frozen the whole time. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes were locked on Drake as he crawled towards Neil. But he couldn’t move. He looked to Wymack, who was still on the floor and coughing. No one could save him. 

Drake slithered within arms reach of Neil, and reached up to grip tightly onto Neil’s ankle. One sharp tug brought Neil crashing to the floor with the wheelchair falling on top of him. Drake pushed the chair out of the way and crawled on top of Neil. He brought a leg between Neil’s and ground his hips down, hard. His hands came up to circle Neil’s wrists and press them firmly into the frozen tiles. He dug his face into Neil’s neck and whispered, “Mine.”

Neil screamed. 

He was trapped back in that room with Drake panting and growling above him. The smell of the larger man enveloped him and suffocated him. He was trapped in the memories of pain and terror. He was back where he never wanted to be again. He was trapped. And he couldn’t get out.

Panic snaked around his throat, constricting tighter and tighter as his breaths came faster. Anything to get air and to get out get out get out. He couldn’t move a muscle. He was going to die here.

Security, nurses, and a recovered Wymack wrenched Drake off of Neil, having to pry his hands off of the smaller boy’s sore wrists. Wymack yelled at the staff at how could they possibly have a rapist in the same hospital as his victim, and how the fuck did this even happen. And all the while, Neil lay trapped in layers and layers of panic.

Wymack whipped to Neil, trying to reach the boy. “Josten. Neil! Neil, listen he’s gone. Okay? He’s gone. You’re okay. He won’t touch you again. You’re okay. Look at me. Look at me, damn it!” 

But Neil was lost and he didn’t see or hear Wymack. He heard the slap of skin against skin, the grunts and groans. The walls of the bedroom were his prison. 

Wymack tried to reach towards Neil, but stopped when Neil let loose another heart-wrenching scream. Shivers wracked Neil’s body, rolling like waves from head to toe. He couldn’t get out.

It was only when a door burst open, he was engulfed in warm brown eyes, and a heavy, familiar weight on the back of his neck gripped him tightly and securely, that Neil was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I am garbage. I'm so mean to Neil. Also, damn it, Neil stop saying you're fine. I think he said it about 10 times this chapter. Things will get better, I promise!
> 
> A word on Drake! With his brain getting bashed in last chapter, he has a frontal lobe injury which can mean a loss of control, reasoning, increased sexual drive, and aggression, which explains why he went bat-shit crazy. I promise I have plans for him...stay strong, pumpkins!
> 
> Andrew will have a bigger part next chapter! Sorry he was low-key absent. Ahhh I'm so nervous! Comments and angry ranting are welcome.


	4. Secrets Are a Deadly Disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to write/post! I got in a car accident last week and...things have been a struggle. But I hope you know all of your beautiful comments and kudos and support have helped me to push out this next chapter and to make sure I don't leave you hanging for too long! Thank you to everyone who commented and who is reading/keeping up with this story! I have no plans to abandon this fic ever.
> 
> Now, back to the story! This chapter picks up like five minutes before last chapter ended. And yay tons of Andrew! *throws confetti* I hope Andrew is in character. It's hard because this takes place during The Raven King so before their 'thing/not thing' started and I want to write some loving, but I want them to be in character! The struggle... 
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY READING!!! 
> 
> TW: Panic attacks, planned sadistic violence, referenced rape

_Andrew_

Andrew hated every single minute of this fucked up day. He should have listened to himself when he wanted to turn off his alarm and roll over to go back to sleep, the day be damned.

Instead, he was stuck in an uncomfortable chair in the hospital waiting room that threatened to snap his spine in half while he sat with a passive look on his face, completely masking his roiling emotions. His conversation with Bee on the phone had been enough to calm him down, but he was still crawling with the disgusting feelings and memories that came with today’s and past events. At least his fucking medication was wearing off and he was feeling some semblance of normal before his withdrawals kicked in.

He couldn’t get the images out of his head. He wished he could reach inside his mind and scratch every single repulsive memory out of his head. Andrew morbidly half considered jamming his knives through his eyes to do just that. The sharp edges of his knives should be enough to scratch and scratch every last strain of memory from his thoughts. Andrew scoffed lightly at the thoughts and met Nicky’s confused face with a pair of dead still eyes. 

Andrew shifted uncomfortably again for the fifth time in a minute and wondered who the messed-up fuck was who decided to put chairs that would require a chiropractor afterwards in a fucking hospital. A strange, muted bang echoed from beyond the doors that lead to the winding halls of the hospital. Andrew didn’t think anything of it, until another bang stilled the bustling of the waiting room. Every head was turned towards the doors in curiosity as shouts spilled from the cracks under the door. Andrew’s hands inched towards his armbands that held his knives, and every hair seemed to stand on end. Something wasn’t right. For a minute, there was silence again, and then a scream, desperate and distinctly familiar pierced through the air and into Andrew’s ears, running down his spine. Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, he was out of his seat, making his way to the doors, Nicky wavering behind him.

Andrew burst through the doors and stilled. 

Bodies of groaning nurses and doctors were scattered across the floor, but the only one Andrew had eyes for was Neil. Neil, screaming in unrestrained panic and eyes unfocused. Neil, pushing himself from any helping hands. Neil, his stupid striker who somehow always ends up on the bad end of a poor game of charades.

Andrew started for Neil, but movement from the corner of his eye pulled his gaze away and he caught the unmistakable form of Drake Spear being manhandled down the hallway by a swarm of security guards before they disappeared around the corner. 

He had his knives out without a second thought and began stalking his prey with purposeful steps. Drake had lived long enough already. Drake had permeated the world with a poison and had breathed air for too long. Andrew wanted him to hurt. He wanted to watch him bleed as he twisted his knife into Drake’s gut. Andrew wanted to watch the light fade from his eyes for everything he’d done to Andrew as a child and for what he had done and taken from Neil. Drake didn’t deserve to live any longer. Guards be damned, Drake was a dead man walking.

Andrew was halfway down the hallway when a hand reached out and grabbed Andrew’s arm. Andrew turned and swung blindly, but that arm was grabbed as well. A maniacal grin split across Andrew’s face.

“Well, well, Coach. Didn’t know we were doing exy practice in the hospital now,” Andrew spat out a chuckle. “Let go before you lose your hands.”

“Andrew,” Wymack’s eyes were hard and full of something Andrew didn’t care to see. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Andrew tugged his arms, trying to get out of Wymack’s grip. Neil was still screaming and it was seriously cutting into Andrew’s concentration. “Don’t miss practice? Don’t smoke? Don’t do drugs? Don’t fucking rape people? There’s a lot of don’t in the world. Better be specific.”

“I know what you want to do, and now is not the time. Going to jail isn’t going to help anything.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to help all of his future victims. He can’t hurt anyone if he’s dead. And maybe it’ll help poor little Neil with knowing his rapist is dead. That piece of shit doesn’t deserve to live a second longer,” Andrew tilted his head as if considering his words, and narrowed his eyes. “Do not make me repeat myself. Let me go or I won’t hesitate to hurt you.” 

“Andrew, he’s in the hands of the law now. You’ll just make things worse if you go after him now. I need you to help me help Neil,” Wymack was either stupid or too stubborn for anything else because he wasn’t moving.

“We all know how well the ‘hands of the law’ handled me.”

“Andrew,” Wymack stressed. He slowly let go of Andrew, but didn’t step away. Neil’s panicked breathing was a repetitive knife stabbing into Andrew’s stomach and he hated these weird reactions he kept getting around the runner.

Andrew slowly lowered his arms and looked down the hallway to where he’d seen Drake disappearing. He stared hard and long before taking a step back. 

The instant his eyes landed on Neil’s shivering form on the ground, it was all he could see. Andrew slipped his knives back into his armbands before dropping to the ground beside the panicked boy. Neil’s eyes flashed around the room, unfocused and wide. His lips were parted slightly as he tried to heave broken, shallow breaths into lungs that refused to move. Andrew’s hand slipped around Neil’s neck to grip firmly at the back of his neck. Instantly, Neil’s eyes flicked to meet Andrew’s and there was a slight stutter in Neil’s breathing. 

“Come on, fucking junkie. You can’t be a runner if you can’t fucking breathe. Now get a grip before I have to start slapping you,” Andrew’s eyes bore deeply into Neil’s as he tried not to think of the feeling of Neil’s skin beneath his fingertips. Sometimes, he really hated himself. 

Neil’s eyes slipped from Andrew’s to stare down the hallway Drake had disappeared. Andrew snapped his fingers in front of Neil’s face until he focused back on Andrew.

“Nope. Don’t be your usual stupid self. Breathe with me so we can get the fuck out of here. Kevin won’t stop complaining about wanting to go to the court and it’s annoying as hell,” Andrew rolled his eyes. 

Neil reached up with shaking fingers to hover slightly away from Andrew’s wrist. Only when Andrew gave a nod of consent, that Neil’s shaking fingers laced slowly around Andrew’s wrist. Andrew narrowed his eyes. This, Neil needing to hold onto Andrew, better not become a fucking habit. 

As Neil’s breathing started slowing, Andrew stared unashamedly into Neil’s eyes. He hated the muddy brown of his contacts. He hated seeing the stupid clear ring of the contacts around Neil’s irises. The contacts felt like a lie, a mask keeping Andrew from really seeing Neil. Andrew’s other hand reached up and gripped Neil’s chin. Andrew’s eyes tightened as he leaned closer to the shivering boy and his gaze flicked across every edge and line of Neil’s eyes, almost as if he could peer past the thin plastic and delve into Neil’s innermost secrets. It was only when Neil’s face started twisting in confusion that Andrew let go of Neil like he’d been burned. He jerked to his feet and stepped back from the boy lying on the cold tiles. He didn’t miss Neil’s outstretched hand, as if considering calling him back. 

But Andrew was gone, stalking down the hallway. Anger was snaking itself around his chest, constricting and bringing his breaths harder and faster. Anger at the shivering boy on the ground. Anger at himself for feeling something…anything for Neil. Anger for being so fucked up. Anger at Drake for being a piece of what destroyed him, and for breaking already broken boys. No. Andrew wasn’t angry at Drake. He was livid. A boiling, steaming kind of livid that turned the edges of his vision red and made him want to bring pain and horror and screams. 

Drake didn’t deserve to live. No one was going to stop him now. 

Wymack calling his name didn’t stop him, and Wymack didn’t try to grab him again. Nurses flung themselves out of his way. His anger was rolling off of him in waves, a poison that threatened to bring the walls down and to tear people apart if they stepped foot in his path. His knives were clenched in his hands without a second thought. People shouted as they saw him, but wisely, no one tried to touch him. 

Andrew rounded the corner and spotted the room with a guard posted outside. If he had to kill the guard too, so be it. It would be worth it to watch Drake’s cursed blood spill to the tiles, to hear his screams of pain as Andrew tore him apart. He would go to jail for this, but it would be so, so worth it. Because Neil’s screams and the images of him on the bed and quaking on the floor would haunt him forever. Because Andrew hadn’t ever been able to scream or yell and he’d only bled in silence and terror, and some days, on his worst days, he still felt dirty. If there was a Hell, Andrew was going to hand deliver Drake.

When Andrew reached the door, he stopped just outside. The guard wasn’t even looking at him, but at the commotion inside. On the hospital bed, strapped down by his hands and ankles, was Drake. Above him was the heart monitor, letting out one, long piercing shriek as Drake flat-lined. The line didn’t move again. Inside the doctors were packing away the defibrillators, calling a time of death, and saying something about brain bleeds and hemorrhages.

Drake was dead.

But this wasn’t right. Drake had gotten to die peacefully. Drake deserved to suffer, to bleed, to scream. He didn’t deserve to fall asleep and die. Andrew deserved more than that. Neil deserved more. But they wouldn’t get their vengeance. Because Drake was dead. 

Andrew lunged for the room, wanting to shake the body of Drake Spear and demand that he return to life so he could kill him. He wanted to scream and cry, but Andrew swore as a child he would never scream and cry again. So, when Wymack’s strong arms wrapped carefully around Andrew’s chest to pull him away, Andrew went quietly. He pushed Wymack off, and walked quietly back down the hall. 

\-----

_Neil_

Andrew was gone. Wymack was gone. Neil was alone. 

Neil was surrounded by medical staff, asking if he was okay, helping him sit up and bringing him a glass of water. But Neil was alone in his thoughts. He wasn’t trapped in that room with Drake. Neil was in the hallway of the hospital and he felt numb. Blissfully numb after that horrifying panic that had spread and taken control of his body. 

He ignored the medical staff, and only looked up when Andrew rounded the corner again, Wymack trailing behind him. Andrew stopped in front of Neil and looked down.

“We’re leaving,” Andrew stated flatly before walking out the doors to the waiting room. Neil stared after him blankly.

Wymack came up to crouch in front of Neil, a sigh on his breath. “Come on, kid. It’s time to get out of here.”

Wymack stood up and held his hands out to help Neil up. Neil hesitated before reaching out and gripping Wymack’s arms for the second time that day. Neil’s hands were still shaking, he bitterly noted as he got unsteadily to his feet. Wymack didn’t try to make Neil get back in the wheelchair, but instead helped Neil limp down the hallway and out to the waiting room.

Nicky was there, tiredly rubbing his arms. “Andrew’s out in the car. Let’s go home, Neil.”

Neil only nodded, before they walked out of the hospital. Neil didn’t look back. He hoped he never had to see the wretched place again. Just before they reached Andrew’s purring car, Wymack pulled him up short.

“Neil, do you want to go back to the Tower?” Wymack stared at him hard, concern dripping from his hard edges. When Neil only looked at him in confusion, Wymack sighed.

“You can crash at my place if you want. It would be quieter and the Foxes can’t bombard you there.”

Neil’s mind was working at a slower pace, and it took him a minute to consider and respond.

“It’s okay… I just… I just want to go… home,” Neil hesitated before saying home, but he didn’t know what else to call it. “I’ll be fine.”

Wymack sighed. He seemed to be sighing a lot today. “I know you will be. You have my number. Call if you need.” 

Wymack helped him to the Maserati. When Neil was settled in the passenger seat, albeit uncomfortably as his hips had started throbbing again, Andrew threw the car into reverse and roared out of the parking lot towards the Tower. 

Neil watched Wymack, who was standing on the sidewalk, arms folded and eyes narrowed, disappear.

\-----

No one said a word during the whole ride. Neil focused on breathing in through his nose and out of his mouth, trying to contain and maintain his pain levels. He’d had worse. He could handle this. 

When they rolled into the parking lot of the Tower, something heavy seemed to fall off Neil’s chest and he swallowed a sigh of relief. His tensed shoulders relaxed a little and he slowly unclenched his hands. The feeling was a little unsettling and he knew he should be concerned about calling the Tower that four letter word, but he would worry about that later. He could move on and completely forget what happened tonight. 

Neil limped painfully along with Andrew leading the way, Nicky hovering supportively next to him, Kevin uncharacteristically quiet behind him, and Aaron bringing up the rear as his fingers flew along the keyboard of his phone. 

As the elevator rose, a nervous feeling settled into Neil’s stomach. He didn’t know what to say to the upperclassmen. Since Wymack was at the hospital with him, Dan probably knew they were at the hospital, and she would have told everyone else. He just didn’t know how much they knew. Neil wasn’t ready to talk about it. He just wanted a moment of quiet after the events of the day. Neil just wanted to shower and sleep. Panicking had taken everything out of him. 

The elevator dinged, confirming they’d reached their floor, and Neil’s heart started pounding. He wasn’t ready. The elevator doors opened to the Foxes’ floor, and he could see the upperclassmen crowded into the hallway, waiting at the end. 

The monsters started piling out the elevator, Neil limping after them. He winced as he realized he couldn’t hide the limp. All the upperclassmen had concerned looks on their faces, particularly Dan and Matt. Neil tried to smile. He was fine. He could do this. By the look on Nicky’s face, who was watching him, Neil wasn’t being very convincing. 

Dan broke away from the group and started towards Neil. Her arms were outstretched and she looked like she wanted to hold him and hide him from the world. Neil almost let her put her arms around him, but Andrew cut in front of Dan. 

“No,” Andrew said firmly.

“Andrew. Let me see Neil. Move. This isn’t about you,” Dan looked angry and kept trying to move around Andrew, but Andrew just kept side stepping and blocking her. 

“I said, no,” Andrew’s hands inched towards his armbands. “Or do I need to help you understand that word?”

“Andrew!” Matt looked furious. “Stop it. We just want to talk to Neil. We don’t even know what happened.” Matt looked over Andrew’s head. “Neil, are you okay? What happened?”

Andrew rose up on the balls of his feet, pointing a knife at Matt’s face, grabbing Matt’s attention. “Uh-uh Boyd. Nosy boys will lose certain appendages if they get any closer. Now, back the fuck up.” 

Matt raised his hands in the air and gave Neil an exasperated look.

“I’m fine,” Neil tried. But his voice was quiet and raspy from screaming and holding back screams. His words had the complete opposite effect and everyone instantly looked a little panicked themselves. Andrew swung around to glare at Neil.

“Neil…” several of the Foxes tried, but Andrew grabbed Neil’s wrist, who winced at the sudden and firm grip on the bruises that circled there, and pulled him into the monsters’ room. Andrew slammed the door in everyone’s faces and ignored their pleas to open the door as he locked it. Neil limped backwards, unsure of what was happening, and suddenly worried about the locked door. 

“Andrew…” Neil started.

“No. No. You,” Andrew whirled on Neil. “You shut the fuck up right fucking now.” 

“Andrew.” Neil tried again.

“I said, shut the fuck up. Or did you lose too many of your already pathetic amount of brain cells?” Andrew looked furious. It was possibly the most expression Neil had ever seen on Andrew’s face, and it was something terrifying. Andrew stalked towards Neil, knife pointed at him. “Now you listen to me, you brain dead idiot, because I will not repeat myself. You are NOT fine. You were just raped, need I remind you, and you are not fucking fine.”

Neil hated that word. But he was stubborn. “I’ve had worse.”

“No, no. Shh,” Andrew shushed Neil as he grabbed the back of his neck and held his knife against it. “You’re going to think you’re fine for maybe the rest of today. And then it’s going to hit you. Over and over again. You won’t be able to forget. You are not fine. Do not lie to me. Don’t you ever fucking say those words to me again.”

Neil stared defiantly back, but his sluggish brain couldn’t think of a response. So, he remained silent. The two stared each other down for a minute before Andrew’s phone started ringing. Dropping his hand from Neil’s neck, he grabbed his phone and answered it without breaking eye contact with Neil. 

“Busy, busy Bee. I’m busy teaching a lesson,” Andrew paused as he listened to Bee on the phone. Slowly, he dropped the knife from Neil’s neck and he stepped backwards as he slid it back into his arm sheath. Andrew’s face twitched in surprise, before settling back into his apathetic mask. “Interesting.” Was Andrew’s parting word before he hung up the phone. He stared at it for a minute before looking back to Neil.

“What is it?” Neil asked as Andrew kept staring at him.

“They’re taking me off my medication early, ‘due to recent horrific events.’ They think I’ll cope better if I’m not high as a kite.”

Neil blinked, then settled on a sigh of relief. “That’s… Andrew that’s good.”

“Ahh have you forgotten about our little friend Riko? And we have the upcoming winter banquet. I can’t leave Kevin and my poor little rabbit unprotected,” Andrew taunted as he leaned against the arm rest of the sofa. 

Neil didn’t comment on the use of “my” and instead focused on the fact that the winter banquet was coming up and he’d completely forgotten. But he wouldn’t let Andrew pass up the opportunity to get off his drugs early. “Andrew, I can handle it. I’ll protect Kevin. Just get off your drugs. You know you hate them.” 

A dark shine flicked across Andrew’s eyes. Lightning fast, he grabbed Neil’s shoulders and kicked around the back of Neil’s knees, who dropped to the floor with a soft huff of pain. Andrew grabbed Neil’s chin and wrenched his face up to look at him. “You think you can ‘handle’ it? While you’re weak and soft fresh from a trauma? I don’t think so, little rabbit. What do you think you’re trying to do?” 

“Stepping up and taking responsibility. You don’t think I can do this? I’ve faced men pointing guns at me and survived on the run for years. I can protect Kevin,” Neil said stubbornly. He could do this. He could protect Kevin and take care of things while Andrew took care of himself. 

“You couldn’t stand up to Drake, though, now could you?” Andrew spat harshly. 

Neil froze. Just the mention of the name sent a spike of fear down his heart. But he focused on breathing steadily. He wouldn’t let Andrew get out of this. “That… that was different. This is different.”

“You have a funny sense of humor,” Andrew tightened his grip on Neil’s chin. Neil’s knees were starting to go numb from kneeling on the ground. 

“I’m serious. Trust me. I can do this,” Neil practically pleaded.

“Trust you? I can’t trust a liar, liar. All you do is lie, little bunny. How do you expect me to trust you?”

Neil swallowed. Neil had nothing, nothing but a name. He hoped it would be enough. Determined, he grabbed Andrew’s free hand and yanked him down to a crouch. He knew they were alone, but he still glanced at the door to make sure it was locked. He let go of Andrew’s wrist and went to pull his shirt up. But as his hands wrapped around the hem, he hesitated. This was big. Something he’d never shown anyone, and he was still sensitive to being naked from…today. But Andrew was important and he needed to do this. Neil pulled his shirt upwards, exposing his stomach; exposing his scars. As Neil pulled his shirt up to his chest, he hesitated, and Andrew’s hand came to stop Neil from pulling his shirt up anymore; this was enough.

Andrew stopped moving and stared at the scars. Neil turned away. He didn’t want to watch Andrew’s expression. A hand gripped his chin again, and pulled it back to meet Andrew’s eyes that were hard and yet open, not judging. Andrew’s other hand came up to Neil’s stomach, hovering slightly above. Neil nodded yes, and gasped slightly as Andrew’s fingertips lightly brushed against the ridges and valleys of his scars, his story. Andrew’s fingers lightly traced the edges of the road burn, the knife wounds, and various other scars. Neil didn’t want to breathe. Muddy brown was locked on Andrew’s golden-brown eyes.

“What’s this? Someone’s ouches are a bit too rough for a life on the run,” Andrew finally said after several long moments.

“I didn’t tell you everything. I left out some details but I will tell them to you when you get back,” Neil breathed. This was all he had. “I think it’s your turn in our truth game anyway.”

“Fine. But how is this supposed to help me trust you?” Andrew was unrelenting.

Neil let out a huff of breath. “If you don’t trust Neil, then trust me.”

“And who exactly are you?”

“Abram. My name is Abram. At least my middle name is. I was named after my father. My mother called me Abram when we were away from my father. You can trust Abram.”

Andrew squinted slightly, as if he was looking for any faults in his story. But finally, he nodded. Andrew’s hand was still on his stomach, and he suddenly pushed hard into the scars, as if committing them to memory. “I’ll trust you, Abram. Don’t make me regret it.”

Andrew let go and stood up. Neil dropped his shirt and staggered to his feet. “You won’t.” 

Andrew nodded towards the locked door. “Go shower. They won’t bother you for a while.”

Neil nodded in gratitude, his exhaustion settling in hard, and limped towards the bathroom.

\-----

_Andrew_

As the shower started up, Andrew sat alone in the living room staring at his hand. He didn’t know what to make of all of those scars. He’d made jokes before about Neil having too many scars and bruises from his parents, but he hadn’t considered they’d be anything like that. Neil was hiding something big. 

Andrew hated leaving Neil unprotected just after he’d been violated and hurt, but he had no choice. If he wanted to protect him in the future, and really protect him, he’d have to be off his meds. Better to do it now.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket at hit Bee’s number. “Bee. I’ll do it.”

A few words from Bee, and he hung up. Andrew looked up to the ceiling and clenched his hand. 

“I leave in a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cheesy villain laugh* ahhh... I love a good cliff hanger. I hope the ending didn't feel too rushed. I just wanted to get out that Andrew is leaving soon. Trying to keep with the timeline is fun and yet a struggle haha. It is modified a bit, because I want some more Neil/Andrew interaction before they go their separate ways for a bit... 
> 
> Uh...I could write a really long explanation about Drake but...I'm tired. I'm so sorry. I'm a terrible person.
> 
> Anyway! Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading and comment any and all feelings!


	5. Tugging at Your Sleeve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm so so sorry. I did not mean for this next chapter to come out so late and for it to be so short. A lot of things have happened and I just kept putting off writing the next chapters. I could have written more for this chapter, but....I just couldn't start up the heavy stuff up just yet. I know a lot doesn't happen in this chapter, but I'm tired. And I just really wanted to update this fic. I promise the next chapter will be out sooner. My life has stabilized so I'm hoping to be more consistent. I hope you know that I never plan on abandoning this fic. I just couldn't do that. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience. Thank you for reading. Thank you for your support. 
> 
> TW: I think it's just mentions of past stuff? Heavy feels

_Neil_

The bathroom door clicked softly as Neil pushed it closed. Everything came crashing down on his shoulders and he leaned heavily against the solid wood as his legs buckled and he slid carefully to the ground. A groan of pain seeped from his lips as all the little aches and pains came roaring to life and the throbbing in his hips sliced up his spine. Clenching his fists, he allowed himself to feel the pain, to accept it, so he could move on. He took careful deep breaths that pushed on the bruises on his chest. His nails bit deep into his palms as he was almost consumed with the deep, agonizing pain. If he hadn’t experienced broken ribs before, he would be afraid the doctor missed something because this horrible ache in his chest refused to go away, no matter how much he willed it. 

Unexpectedly, and uncomfortably, Neil swore he could feel his mother’s fingernails digging into his scalp and wrenching his head back, tearing at the roots of his hair. “Get the fuck up, Abram. Now is not the time,” his mother’s voice hissed and scalded the words into his ear. “You don’t have time to feel pain. You feel nothing. You are nothing. Now get up before I make you.”

Neil choked on the air and his heart stuttered in his chest. He attempted to jump to his feet, but certain injuries prevented such nimble actions and instead he went crashing to the chilled tiles of the bathroom floor. His fingers spasmed against the floor as he tried to find purchase against the slick surface to push himself backwards. He was stuck in his head; trapped between being somewhere on the run and trapped beneath a large, heavy body that was moving, moving too much and in ways he was unfamiliar with. 

One of Neil’s flailing hands got caught on his shirt and rubbed against his scars. And suddenly he was back with Andrew. With deep, hazel eyes that he found himself getting lost in. With strong hands, but gentle fingers running softly along the ridges of his most disgusting scars. With a solid body that Neil knew would hold him up should he collapse. And he could breathe again. 

Coughing gently, and shaking his head to dislodge any remaining feelings, he carefully slid himself across the bathroom floor, since standing was out of the question. When he reached the porcelain edge of the bathtub, Neil rested his cheek against it and allowed the cold surface to keep him in the present. 

Leaning over, he started running the water to get it to heat up as much as it could. As the warm steam hit the air, he closed his eyes as exhaustion tugged on his every limb. Unwilling to sleep on the bathroom floor, Neil pushed himself up and slowly started removing articles of clothing. He steeled himself against the wounds and bruises he would find. He’d seen them at the hospital, so he shouldn’t be too shocked. But the sight of the finger shaped bruises wrapped around his hips, his wrists, and the ones he could feel on the backs of his legs still took his breath away. 

Neil gripped the roots of his hair and tugged, maybe mimicking what he thought his mother would do to him right now. Maybe trying to keep himself grounded. Because the dried blood that had run down his legs from the events at the hospital was almost enough to send him over the edge. 

The edges of his vision darkened and his breath came in quick pants. Nausea rolled in his stomach, promising to empty the contents of what little he’d eaten at that disastrous dinner. He could swear he felt that…that…disgusting liquid running down his thighs and it was enough to rip him onto his feet, no matter how much it hurt, and to drag himself under the steaming spray. He hissed under his breath as the water splashed the bite mark on his shoulder. Despite the heat of the water, he shuddered, a tremble that ran from the top of his head to his feet. 

What the hell was wrong with him? He was used to blood. He was used to disgusting bodily fluids and vaguely recalled the repulsive look and feel of human brain matter. But this…this was different. He couldn’t place it. This blood, this wound, was different from everything else he had experienced. The tugging and burning in his hips ricocheted to his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Neil slammed his palms against the shower walls and leaned his forehead against the tiles, trying to breathe. Neil was fine. Breathe in. He was fine. Breathe out. He was fine. 

He. Was. Fine. 

The water at his feet turned a soft pink as a drop of blood dripped from his legs. For a moment, it almost resembled a flower petal. But then, it was gone. Washed down the drain. 

Neil carefully kneeled on the shower floor, letting the water pound over him. He willed his mind to blank out. He had to get clean. He felt disgusting and riddled with memories he couldn’t scrub out. He grabbed Andrew’s shower gel and got to work scrubbing every inch of his disgusting self.

Neil had to be fine. 

\-----

Neil’s legs trembled as he pushed himself to his feet. He wasn’t allowed to coddle himself, and the few extra minutes he had given himself to breathe under the shower spray was more than enough time. He was exhausted and spent, wanting only to climb into bed and sleep. His mind was finally, thankfully, blissfully numb. The confusing emotions and onslaught of memories was wrapped beneath a layer of exhaustion, heavily buried. For now. 

He stepped carefully out of the shower, not wanting to make a wrong step with his unsteady legs and take an unnecessary spill onto the floor. He had enough bruises and concussions. 

Neil snagged a towel and ran the soft fibers over his discolored limbs. Closing his eyes, he swayed slightly, feeling as if he could fall asleep standing up, no matter how the ache in his hips increased the longer he was on his feet.

Taking a breath, he eased his eyes open and looked around for clothes to put on. Unfortunately, the only things he had were the clothes from the hospital, and the pants had blood stains already. Exhaling a puff of air, he groaned as he bent over to grab the shirt. The shirt, at least, was still clean. Pulling it over his head and feeling a sense of relief as his scars were, once again, covered, he realized he had two options for pants.

Neil wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and limped to the door of the bathroom. Cracking the door open, wisps of steam escaped into the cooler air, curling and twisting towards the ceiling of the hallway. Neil shivered slightly at the change of temperature but gripped the door way as he pulled himself out of the bathroom and towards the living room. He stopped short before actually stepping into the room and instead leaned heavily against the wall, attempting to take some of the weight off of his hips and unsteady legs.

Andrew was on the couch, watching some show on silent. He didn’t move when Neil moved down the hall, but Neil knew Andrew knew he was there. Andrew always knew. Neil softly cleared his throat. “Andrew,” Neil started. “Let me borrow some of your pants.”

Andrew turned slightly and regarded Neil leaning against the wall in the hallway, hair dripping water onto the carpet, and the slight shiver in his frame. Andrew stared just long enough for Neil to start questioning if he heard him, and if he should ask again, but Andrew stood up and started towards Neil. For a second, Neil imagined him stepping in front of him and grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him towards his shoulder. Neil was so tired and wanted something sturdier than a wall to hold him up. 

But Andrew said nothing as he continued past Neil, keeping his blank eyes forward. Neil heard him go into his room and begin shuffling around. A second later, a pair of soft joggers were dropped unceremoniously on top of his head, making him startle. Neil pulled them from his head and muttered a thanks to Andrew, who had yet to return to his spot on the couch. Instead, he’d taken up sentry beside Neil, staring at the TV across the room. Neil leaned forward to tug the joggers onto his legs and groaned. A hard shake settled into his legs and he breathed heavily as he pulled the pants on. When he was done, he leaned his back against the wall, gripping the towel in his hand, and allowed the shake to work its way through him. 

Neil startled again when the towel was tugged from his hand and dropped over his head. Andrew’s hands vigorously ruffled Neil’s hair over the towel, drying the dripping strands. When Andrew was satisfied, he pushed Neil’s forehead back in a gentle shove and walked away. 

Neil stared at the fibers of the towel still draped over his head for a minute and breathed softly in the muted light. He pulled the towel from his head and turned towards Andrew who had settled back into his spot on the couch. He tossed the towel back into the bathroom before limping heavily into the living room. He considered the door for a second, finding he was grateful it was still locked and that the room was silent. Neil found comfort in the silence that hung in the room, like a blanket of peace. The soft hum of the TV was white noise to Neil and again the exhaustion seemed to increase in weight. Instead of going out of Andrew’s living room and to his own bed, he decided to settle onto the couch next to Andrew, laying on his side to take the pressure off.

The silence was something Neil had been craving since the beginning of that awful dinner. He decided he could deal with the Foxes later. For now, he wanted to listen to Andrew’s soft breaths and not have to worry about talking or thinking or doing anything.

He watched the flickering images on the TV, still on silent, before turning to watch the lights dance across Andrew’s features. Andrew turned to look at Neil, warm hazel meeting diluted brown.

“Staring,” was the only thing Andrew said before turning back to the TV.

Neil’s lips twitched in what could only be a hint of a smile. He soon found himself lulled to sleep with the feeling of something he hadn’t felt in years. 

Neil was safe.

\-----

_Andrew_

Andrew listened to Neil’s breaths even out before looking back over at the exhausted boy. Neil was slumped against the side of the couch with his head nuzzled into his arm. His legs shook almost imperceptibly, a small quiver that could only come from pain and exhaustion. Andrew’s hands curled into tight fists as he fought to control his emotions. 

Anger poured from between his clenched teeth. Anger at himself for feeling things towards this boy that had just been violated. How dare he feel like this? How dare his breath catch at the sight of a dripping wet Neil? But most of all, he felt uncontrollable rage at the abuser that had tortured him since he was a child and who had taken something no one had the right to steal from an already broken boy; from his protection. Andrew should have been able to stop it. He should have woken up in time to save Neil from experiencing Andrew’s worst nightmares. Instead, he’d slept through the whole thing. He hadn’t been able to save Neil. And in doing so, it felt like he had failed himself. He never had been able to save himself, so of course he wouldn’t be able to save others. This. This was Andrew’s fault.

And now Drake couldn’t pay the price. He had died peacefully, quietly, when he should have gone out the way Andrew had always envisioned it: with teeth clenched against throat tearing screams as he had been torn apart just slowly enough for him to feel every last nerve being severed with Andrew’s knife. Drake deserved to feel pain and anguish like he’d inflicted on all his victims. He didn’t deserve to die quietly. Drake hadn’t gotten to pay for what he’d done. And somehow Andrew wouldn’t ever feel satisfied. Because Drake had gotten to do what Andrew had always dreamed of doing; escape. 

A soft knock at the door tore Andrew’s eyes from Neil’s sleeping frame. He glared at the door, almost as if he could push and will whoever was trying to disturb them away. Another knock at the door pushed Andrew to his feet. He wouldn’t allow the idiotic bastard behind the door to wake Neil who so desperately needed sleep. Overwhelming surges of protectiveness washed over Andrew. Nothing was going to hurt Neil again. He was his protection, and Andrew had failed. He wouldn’t fail again. 

Andrew slipped the door open quietly, but just wide enough so he could see who was outside. Nicky and Aaron stood in the hallway, looking wary and tired.

“Andrew, let us in. We need to sleep,” Nicky yawned into his hand. 

“Sleep outside,” Andrew tried to close the door, but Aaron’s hand shot out to keep it open.

“This is our room, too. It’s not like we don’t know what happened. Today’s been shit, don’t keep it going. It’s not like we’re going to attack Neil,” Aaron snapped.

Andrew considered for a moment before stepping away from the door and making his way back to the couch. Nicky started a loud exclamation of gratitude, but one sharp glare from Andrew was all it took for him to shut up. Andrew settled back into his spot besides Neil and kept his attention on the show flickering across the screen. Movement in the corner of his eye made him stiffen, and his fingers dug into the material of the couch. But it was just Nicky, leaning slightly over the couch to look at Neil’s sleeping form. For a second, Andrew thought Nicky would do something to wake Neil, and his fingers started inching towards his armbands. Instead, Andrew watched as Nicky’s face twisted into something he’d never seen on his overexuberant cousin. Deep sadness softened his usually brightly lit eyes and a sigh eased its way from Nicky’s lips. He dragged a hand through his hair before walking off, only to return a moment later with a throw blanket in his arms. Nicky stopped in front of the couch and looked at Andrew, almost as if for permission, before kneeling in front of the broken boy. Nicky reached out a hand like he wanted to smooth back Neil’s hair from his forehead but thought better of it and instead rubbed his own eyes wearily. Gently and as lightly as he could, Nicky settled the blanket over Neil, who must have been more tired than Andrew presumed, because he didn’t even stir. Nicky stood and looked at Neil for a moment longer before walking away and slowly shutting the door to his room. Aaron was nowhere to be seen, and Andrew was glad for it. He didn’t even pause to consider where Kevin was.

For now, all was silent. The gentle weight of the night eased over Andrew and he found his shoulders relaxing. This day had been fucked up, in more ways than one, and he was exhausted. Andrew had plans to stay awake all night to keep watch over Neil and to keep is own demons at bay, but his eyelids soon grew heavy and he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm so sorry it's short. But they're so peaceful right now, and I wanted to give them a moment of quiet before I throw them into the fray again. I just love these characters so much and again, thank you for reading. Please leave comments! I love every single one.


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